


Sisters

by KarleighQ



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s07e07 The Dragon and the Wolf, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarleighQ/pseuds/KarleighQ
Summary: When Arya has a nightmare, who can comfort her?





	Sisters

**Author's Note:**

> This is a scene that I wish would've happened. Just some sisterly love! I may add more if people ask!

“Lady Sansa?” The knock was light and the voice small. It was early, the sun hadn’t even risen yet and I hadn’t risen from bed. But when someone comes in this early, usually something is wrong.  
“Enter.” A small girl, no more than two and ten, entered with a shy look on her face. I grabbed my dressing gown and wrapped it around myself, sliding warm wool slippers on my feet. “What is it dear?”  
“It’s your sister Milady. She seems distressed. We didn’t know what to do.” I didn’t let her finish, simply ran from the room, straight to Arya’s room.  
Arya was lying on her bed and all of her limbs were loose and relaxed. If her eyes weren’t open, I’d have thought that she was asleep, she looked so calm. Maester Wolkan was leaning over her, asking her questions that she was answering, but he clearly didn’t like the answers.  
“Maester Wolkan, what happened?” I ran to her bed and grabbed her hand, but she pulled it away from me. Arya had never been particularly affectionate, even more so since she came home, but this was out of character even for her.  
“Lady Arya woke up screaming early this morning. We thought it was just a bad dream, but she seems to have lost herself a bit.”  
“Explain.” I demanded of the older man.  
“See for yourself.” He told me, gesturing, “Lady Arya?”  
“A Girl is not Arya Stark. Arya Stark is dead.” Her voice was hollow and dispassionate, as if she was repeating the house creeds Septa Mordane made us memorize.  
“If Arya is dead, who are you?” I asked her, fearing the answer.  
“A Girl is No One.” She told us, in the same hollow voice.  
“No, you are Arya Stark of Winterfell. You are home.” I didn’t hear Bran come in, but what he said must have been exactly what she needed because Arya started to blink and her eyes seemed to clear. “You are not Faceless Arya Stark.” Bran’s tone was the gentlest that I’d heard since he came home.  
My stomach dropped. I know nothing about what Arya has gone through, aside from tiny bits that she told me. As everyone gave me the sympathy and support, Arya clearly suffered in silence.  
“Arya?” I whispered, reaching for her hand again. “Are you okay?”  
“Yes. It was just dark.” Arya whispered, her body shaking, “I don’t like the dark.”  
“That’s the most honest you’ve been with me since you came home.” Maester Wolken and Bran left the room, most likely to go break their fast, leaving me alone in a comfortable quiet with my sister.  
“They took my sight. I stole a life from the Many Faced God and the price paid was my eyesight. I had to learn to fight without my eyes. I wasn’t very good and my trainer didn’t like me. It could’ve been years, months, or days of just darkness and pain.”  
I climbed into her bed with her, holding her close to my body. “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you here. ”  
“When I woke up the fire had gone out and the candle was out. It was so dark.” She was shaking in my arms. It took a minute for me to realize that she was sobbing. This wasn’t Arya Stark, Faceless Assasin. This was Arya Stark, whose been on the run since she was nine-years-old. This is Arya Stark, who is afraid of the dark, because someone gave her a reason to be afraid of the dark. This is Arya Stark, my little sister who I will protect from now on, because someone needs to protect her.  
“I will never let anyone hurt you. You are safe and you are loved.” I don’t know how long we lay there, it was hours at least. Arya fell asleep in my arms and I just held her, despite having several matters of state that I should be attending to. Let it wait. Let the Night King come. Let Westeros burn. This is more important.


End file.
